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She would become another name in a list I tried not to keep.

The problem wasn't Melanie.

It was that my father was right about the pattern.

And Ash was the first person who'd ever made me want to risk finding out whether the pattern could end differently.

My phone buzzed again, and this time I checked it.

Cole.

We need to talk.

I considered pretending I hadn't seen it, but the door to the suite opened before I could decide, and Kinkaid walked in wearing the expression he usually reserved for players who'd done something spectacularly stupid.

He didn't bother with a greeting as he crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite me.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“You already know what happened. Melanie sold a story, and I played like garbage.”

“That's what happened on paper.” Kinkaid studied me with the same unsettling focus he brought to game footage. “I'm asking what actually happened, because the Max Renaud I know doesn't lose his composure over tabloid bullshit. So either something else is going on, or you've developed a personality disorder in the middle of the playoffs.”

I almost smiled. “Excellent bedside manner, Coach.”

“I'm not Cinder, and I'm not interested in making you feel better. I need to know whether whatever happened is going to follow you onto the ice again.”

“I'm handling it.”

Kinkaid leaned back, thoroughly unimpressed. “You keep saying that as though repetition will make it true. From where I'm sitting, you're two penalties away from me locking you in your hotel room until Game Three, and I'm not convinced you wouldn't find a way to take another one from there.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“With you this week, I'm not ruling anything out.”

I rubbed a hand over my jaw while he continued watching me.

His expression softened by a fraction. “Whatever's going on with you, figure it out. We've got two days before Game Three, and I need my captain sharp. More importantly, the team needs you to stop acting like every problem in the world is yours to solve alone.”

That landed considerably closer to the truth than I wanted him to know.

“I said I'll handle it.”

“And I heard you. Doesn't mean I believe you.”

Kinkaid stood, pausing near the door long enough to give me another assessing look.

“Get some sleep, stay away from the press, and if you see Melanie, walk in the opposite direction. I don't care how provocative she is or how many cameras are around. You're done feeding this.”

“I wasn't planning to invite her for coffee.”

“Good. Progress.”

The door closed behind him.

I was alone again with my phone, my father's warnings, and the memory of leaving Ash this morning.

For a while, I told myself I should leave him alone.